Blood in the Water
by EstelRaca
Summary: Ray hasn't always been the best mentor to Apollo, but when he hears that Clay's been murdered, he's determined to do what he can for the younger man. Sequel to "The Light in Their Eyes", set mid-Dual Destinies, no Spirit of Justice spoilers.


**Author's Note:** This is a direct sequel to "The Light in Their Eyes", wherein Ray ends up mentoring a young Apollo. It was written for Asies before I had played any of Spirit of Justice, and so isn't compliant with that game.

 _Blood in the Water_

Ray pours over his finance books for the law office, downing another shot of whiskey when the numbers continue to work out the same way.

Because getting drunk is _clearly_ a good way to handle being a disappointment. Absolutely. Good job, Shields, keep up the mentorship.

Not that he's _really_ Apollo's mentor. He's been there for the kid, yeah. When Apollo has questions or needed a letter of recommendation, Ray was happy to help out. He even let the kid job shadow him for a while, to get the experience hours that he needed for a scholarship. For all that, though, Apollo's been a very self-motivated lawyer-in-training, pursuing the field almost in spite of rather than because of Ray.

It's not like Ray's even the kid's hero. The kid's hero is Phoenix Wright, Apollo's enthusiasm for all the anti-corruption work Wright did somehow not undermined by the scandal that resulted in Wright losing his ability to practice law. According to Edgeworth it's a good thing, because Wright isn't actually guilty of anything. Ray's been in the same room with the ex-defense-attorney a few times, usually through events with Miles, but he's not actually gotten to speak with the man, and while he would have agreed with Miles once upon a time...

That's all a moot point, though. Phoenix Wright and the Dark Age of the Law have nothing to do with what's bothering Ray. Neither of those entities offered Apollo a job, after all. (The Dark Age of the Law has proactively tried to _keep_ Apollo from having a job. The last thing those in power want is an incorruptible, stubborn orphan who will fight for what he believes is right dabbling in the system, but Ray doesn't want to think about that, either, at the moment.)

 _Ray's_ the one who promised Apollo a job when he got out of school, if Apollo needed one. The promise had slipped easily off his tongue, a simple enough thing to offer in order to keep the kid from panicking when he had to take out a few student loans during his last semester and a half of college.

And Ray's the one who's not going to be _able_ to offer the kid a job, not if he wants to keep the business in the black and also pay his own rent.

He knew things were getting tighter. The Dark Age of the Law hasn't been kind to most people who refuse to play by its twisted, unfair rules. Why would someone, innocent or guilty, go to the man with the twenty percent success rate, when he can go to the guy with the sixty or seventy percent success rate of getting acquittals? Just because there're rumors around the legal world that the guy's forging evidence or bribing judges doesn't mean that knowledge permeates to the general populace, and even if it _did_... well, better not to hang, right?

Somehow his glass has refilled itself, and Ray drains it once more, slumping down in his chair as he runs through the figures once more.

Maybe if he gets drunk enough, he'll forget how to do math, and then he won't have to worry about what Apollo will say when he comes to Ray looking for a helping hand and finds absolutely nothing of use.

XXX

"Congratulations, kid!" Raymond Shields lifts his glass of sake in a toast, and Apollo flushes, not quite suppressing a grin as he lifts his glass to clink it against Ray's. "Uncle Ray always knew you could do it."

"I wouldn't have been able to do it without you and Clay." Apollo looks down at his plate—a very nice meal several times more expensive than anything he's had in the last year. Shields had invited him out to celebrate as soon as Apollo got confirmation that he passed the bar. Actually both Apollo and Clay had been invited, but Clay hadn't been able to come, needing to do something at the space center related to his astronaut training. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome." Shields smiles, pride etched into every deepening line on his face. "Though I really can't take any credit for it. You're smart and you're driven and really, Apollo, if anyone deserves that badge, it's you."

Apollo's eyes move from his plate to the golden badge shimmering in the center of the table, halfway between him and Shields. _His_ badge, and it still doesn't feel quite real. His fingers reach out, turning the badge so that he can see the glittering engraving throwing back the restaurant's light into his eyes. The Scales of Justice sit at the center of the badge, seeming to draw the eye away from the light-seeking sunflower.

 _He_ is going to be responsible for seeing those scales balanced. For finding the truth, and ensuring that those who aren't guilty don't suffer for the sins of others. He feels almost light-headed imagining it, a combination of ecstasy and nervousness as he considers what's going to rest on his shoulders.

Well... _eventually_ going to rest on his shoulders. He's passed the bar, but most sane attorneys—especially those who want to do well at their jobs—find a mentor for their first few years out. Someone who will show them the ropes, help them figure out how to work within the system and when to buck against it.

Apollo knows who he's going to work for already. He has the acceptance note stashed in his pocket because he keeps reading it every half hour or so, not quite believing that it's true.

He just hopes Shields isn't going to be too disappointed when he tells him.

"So..." Shields pokes chopsticks around in his food, not actually bringing anything to his mouth. "Do you have a plan from here?"

"I..." Apollo straightens, drawing a deep breath. Now or never, and hopefully he's not going to burn a bridge that he'd like to keep open with this. "I'm going to work for Kristoph Gavin!"

Shields rears back. Actually everyone sitting within a ten foot radius rears back from them, though Shields is the only one who _continues_ to study Apollo once it becomes clear that Apollo isn't going to have another outburst.

"I mean..." Apollo clears his throat, trying to lower his volume so that others won't be able to overhear. "I know you had offered me a job, and I really appreciate it. But Gavin's got a much bigger firm, with more cases for me to see, and—"

"That's great!" Shields' exclamation is almost as loud as Apollo's had been, and he leans towards Apollo, grinning.

"I..." Apollo hesitates, trying not to feel hurt. It's good that Shields isn't upset about this, right? "You think so?"

"I mean, I would've loved showing you the ropes, kid." Shields continues to grin. "Really, I would have. But you're right. Gavin has a bigger practice, with a much more varied clientele. You'll see more there in a week than you'd see with me in a month."

"Yeah." Apollo forces a brief smile. "That's how I see it, too."

"Plus I bet he's offering you a better package than I could." Twisting his chopsticks around in his meal again, Shields sighs. "I think this is probably for the best all around."

"You think so?" The smile on Apollo's face becomes more genuine as his excitement from earlier returns. "I mean, I don't actually _know_ Gavin, but I've heard good things about him. Coolest defense in the city and all that. What do you think of him?"

"I think he's great." Shields actually picks up some of the noodles on his plate, slurping them with gusto. "I haven't heard anything about him being corrupt. He's probably the best non-corrupt lawyer in the state if not the country. Damn, Apollo, if _I_ had a choice between working for me and working for him, I'd go with him in a heartbeat."

"So you don't mind?" Apollo feels a little silly as soon as the question's out, but he needs to know he's not going to disappoint the first lawyer he ever met who actually _cared_. He needs to make sure he's not making a mistake, given all the corruption and unpleasantness in the legal system lately.

"I give you my blessing." Picking up his sake glass again, Shields holds it up in another toast. "To new mentors and new life paths."

Apollo clicks his glass against Ray's again. "To new life paths while not forgetting the old."

Whatever may come, Apollo's determined not to forget who he is, where he came from, or why he's doing what he's doing.

XXX

Ray fucked up.

He should have been more involved in his own profession. He should have watched Gavin more closely, to see what kind of person he really was. He should have been more careful about giving Apollo suggestions.

He should have done _so much_ , and really it's the exact same type of fuck-up that Ray's always making. He should have done more after Gregory died. He should have done more when the details of the DL-6 case came out in Von Karma's trial. He should have done more for Miles when Wright was disbarred.

He should do _more_ , always, and once again his failure to look into things closely has hurt someone.

What did it do to Apollo, working for a cold-blooded murderer? Is he still the Apollo that Ray's watched grow up, or has this finally taken some of the fire and steel out of his eyes?

Ray should have kept in closer touch with Apollo once Apollo went to work for Gavin, but it's just one more in a long series of _should haves_ that Ray will dream about for the rest of his life, and it does nothing useful for the boy that he failed.

He knows where Apollo lives. Or at least he knows where Apollo _lived_ , the apartment that Apollo and Clay have shared since their sophomore year of college. Since Apollo hasn't said anything about moving, Ray assumes that's still where he is.

Would it be better to call? Maybe. Possibly. It's easier to lie over the phone than it is in person, though, and Ray desperately wants to _see_ Apollo. He wants to see Apollo's _eyes_ , to make sure they aren't broken—to make sure Ray hasn't been partially responsible for breaking one of the best people to enter the legal profession in years.

So Ray finds himself standing outside Apollo's apartment, his heart in his throat, raising his hand in preparation for knocking.

"I _hate him_!" Apollo's voice easily penetrates the door, slurred with pain and anger and more than a hint of alcohol. "It's not _fair_! I wanted this job _forever_ but it's nothing like it's supposed to be. He's a—a—a _liar_ and a _cheater_ and I never should've _trusted_ him, I never should've—"

The words dissolve into indistinguishable howls, and Ray thinks he can pick out the sound of Clay Terran's voice, trying to settle his friend down.

Ray backs away from the door, his hands still raised in a useless gesture.

What did he think he could say to make things better? What did he think he would find?

Why did he expect Apollo to be something superhuman, unbreakable, incorruptible, a magic salve for a broken system and society that don't want to be fixed?

Shoving his hands down into his pockets, Ray slouches back down the corridor, away from Apollo's apartment, intent on finding his own drink to drown his inconsolable sorrows in.

XXX

Apollo doesn't go to Shields when he needs a job. He tries pretty much every other defense attorney in the county, but he isn't quite desperate enough to go to Shields when he falls into working at the Wright Anything Agency.

At first it's because he wants to keep what scraps of pride and dignity he has. Once Apollo was done moping and growling about how the world is unfair—something Apollo has always known, something nobody with an astandard family can _help_ but know—Clay and he had sat down to go through their budget and realized they would be all right for a few months. Apollo can put his student loans on hold, since he's not making any income, and it's not exactly _pleasant_ , but it's not the end of the world.

Would he have gone to Shields if things hadn't worked out with Wright? Apollo knows himself well enough to know that he would. Eventually he would have swallowed his pride and walked up to the man he hasn't seen since he passed the bar and beg for assistance. Eventually he would have been able to handle telling Shields that he was _right—_ that the system is broken, that justice is hard to come by, that there is no hero who doesn't disappoint when you get close enough to see beneath the mask.

Except... Apollo's still not certain about Phoenix Wright. He _had_ been certain, when he slugged Wright as hard as he could and turned down his offer of a job. He had been _terrified_ , worried that he could lose his badge and everything he has worked so hard for in one fell swoop, and he had _hated_ Phoenix Wright with a burning passion in those few seconds. How could he not? Wright wasn't just disappointing him, Wright was _using_ him, without regard for Apollo's own wishes and needs, and Apollo _hates_ being used and manipulated.

Having worked for Wright for a little bit... Apollo's still not _certain_. He wonders, sometimes, if he'll ever be certain about this man again. Wright is taciturn, teasing, offering tantalizing glimpses of the man he once was—the man Apollo adored whenever he appeared on the news—while always staying the strange trickster spirit that he's made himself into. Is he doing this for a _reason_? Does he have some plan or purpose?

Apollo doesn't _know_ , but somehow there's still hope—hope that makes every disappointment more bitter and every little glimpse of victory sweeter.

The pay isn't great at the Wright Anything Agency, and half the time Apollo feels like he has to help people remember that he's a lawyer, but it's better than nothing. It will be enough to keep the lights on and the apartment heated, and it will keep Apollo near Wright while he tries to figure out exactly what's going on in the legal system and in Wright's head.

Apollo almost calls Shields when he decides that he's staying at the Agency, to tell Shields that Apollo has now won _two_ not guilty verdicts—a one hundred percent success ratio—and to let Shields know that he's doing all right, in case the man saw the news and has been worried about him.

He puts his phone back in his pocket without dialing. Shields hasn't called him, after all, so maybe Apollo would just be seen as a nuisance, a headache that Shields thought he had finally passed on to someone else. Plus there'll probably be questions, if Apollo contacts him, and Apollo still doesn't know what he wants to say to others about Phoenix Wright.

Apollo decides he'll send a letter, a little note wishing Shields a happy birthday when the time rolls around, and leave it to Shields to contact him again if he wants to.

By the time Shields' birthday rolls around Apollo is neck-deep in Gavinners intrigue, dismantling his own little piece of corruption in the system, and he forgets all about his plan.

XXX

Ray watches Apollo's career in the papers and on the news.

The boy's everything Ray thought he could be. He's strong and stubborn and _stainless_ , constantly getting dragged into intrigue and always digging his way back out again with the same set to his jaw and the same blazing fire in his eyes. Whether it's sending his mentor to prison for murder or getting a popular police detective convicted of smuggling, Apollo never hesitates in his search for truth and justice.

Apollo never loses, but despite all the corruption floating, all the think pieces being written about whether there are _really_ any decent people left in the legal system, Ray knows it's because Apollo's just _that good._ He only takes on clients that he believes to be innocent, and once he accepts a case he starts digging until he finds the truth. It's a beautiful thing to watch.

It's something that isn't going to last. Apollo's going to make a mistake somewhere, pick the wrong client or fail to find an answer, and the reporters who flock around him now will continue to flock around him then, drawn unerringly to the scent of blood in the water.

But for a little while—until the system breaks him—Ray can watch Apollo work, see his eyes shining like Miles' and Ray's never quite will anymore. There is an _innocence_ that comes with never having failed someone, never having bent under the weight of a broken system that seems insurmountable and unchangeable, and it's beautiful to watch that innocence turned into power—turned against those who would destroy it, wielded with skill and determination to destroy them instead.

Apollo even proves that Wright was innocent all those years ago, bringing the man who has apparently become his _true_ mentor back into the spotlight and the courtroom. (Wright's eyes don't shine like they used to, tarnished like Miles', but he's still _there_ , supporting Apollo, and Ray supposes that's enough to call it a victory.)

So Ray contents himself with watching from afar, and hopes he had at least some modicum of positive influence on the man that Apollo's grown into.

XXX

Apollo finds out before the news is broadcast.

Starbuck calls him. He will be grateful for it, in retrospect—glad that Starbuck remembered him, remembered that he's a lawyer, thought to call for him when there was need. Glad that he heard the news from a friend, from someone else who loved Clay dearly.

At the moment he hears he's furious. It's fury that lies over a deep, gaping chasm, an emptiness that he doesn't know how to fill. (Athena will tell him later that it's a perfectly normal response to a major, unexpected loss. Athena will tell him a lot about grief, over the next few months, once they're on speaking terms again, but reassuring him that he isn't a terrible person for wanting to scream before he wants to cry is one of the more important ones.)

He doesn't let the anger into his voice. Starbuck is scared, his voice choked with fear and grief and what may be tears. When a client is upset or frightened, it's the lawyer's job to smile, to be reassuring, and Apollo does just over the phone.

Does just that at the detention center, and the fury has faded a bit, revealing a slightly more rickety bridge underneath it—one of dedication, of determination, and Apollo is going to do his job. For Starbuck, for Clay, for GYAXA and Aura and everyone else, Apollo is going to get to the bottom of this mess.

But first he has to get through Athena's lies and half-truths, uncover the story that she's kept hidden from them and see if it's a monster or a frightened girl hiding beneath the persona she's crafted so carefully.

It would be easier if the anger and grief weren't there, clouding his thoughts, but Apollo will do what needs to be done.

It's what Clay would want, after all.

XXX

Ray hears about it on the news.

He had almost forgotten about Clay. Not that Clay wasn't a vibrant and energetic young man in his own right—he _was—_ but because when it came to interacting with Ray, Clay was Apollo's shadow. Ray imagined, sometimes, that it was the opposite when they were at the space center—that there Clay was the one doing most of the talking, the explaining, the dreaming, while Apollo watched and smiled and supported his friend.

They had balanced each other so well. They had _supported_ each other so well.

And now Clay is dead, and Apollo is walking into court with Clay's jacket draped across his shoulders, and for a moment Ray thinks his heart is going to explode because it _hurts_ so much.

After everything the boys went through, this wasn't supposed to be how things ended for them.

Does Wright know? Do he and the others at the Agency understand how _important_ Clay was to Apollo? Do they know what it's going to do to him, being alone again?

Ray is already putting his coat on, his body moving while his stunned mind is still wrapped up in the images on the screen. Space launches are supposed to be heavily guarded. How could Clay have ended up dying at one? Could it really be the other astronaut who killed him? But if it was, Apollo shouldn't be defending him, and—

And Ray doesn't have enough information.

But he knows where he can get more. If Apollo ever needed a helping hand, now will be the time, and Ray won't be able to live with himself if he doesn't at least _try._

When he gets to the courthouse, there's a police blockade, smoke billowing up into the sky, and enough reporters to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool. Ray would be sorely tempted to throw them all into one save for the fact that only the worst ones would probably survive.

He fights his way through the crowd, fixing his eyes on a female detective who looks to be in her mid-twenties and not letting his gaze move from her. It takes about ten minutes of maneuvering and more than a few toes stepped on, but eventually Ray is at the yellow tape separating the sea of reporters from the ruins of the courthouse.

"Stay _back_." The detective in the lab coat growls out the command, her eyes flashing up and down the line of tape. "And for the sixteen hundred and twenty-fifth time, no one is authorized to issue a comment yet. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth will be with you as soon as more is known."

"Detective!" Ray fumbles to pull his badge out, the tarnished gold glinting as he waves it. "I'm not a reporter, and I need to—"

The woman closes the distance between them with frightening speed and efficiency, her white lab coat flapping behind her. She scowls down at his badge, eyes narrowing, and then plucks it from his hands. She turns it this way and that, examining the way the light hits it, reading the numbers engraved in the back. He half expects her to lick it, but instead she offers it back. "You're a defense attorney. For... about two decades, right?"

Ray gapes at the woman for a moment before remembering himself and giving a fierce nod. "That's right. And I need—"

"Nothing." The woman's voice is flat, which is at least a step up from the fury she seems to keep on a tight leash when watching the reporters—one of whom tries to slip past the barrier. The detective twitches her lab coat aside, displaying her pistol, and the reporter gulps and ducks back to the proper side of the line. The woman pulls some kind of cylindrical projectile object from her lab coat pocket and tosses it at the wayward reporter, bouncing it expertly off the woman's forehead. "No one gets any information until the Chief Prosecutor or one of the judges says it's all right."

"But—" Ray's hands clench tight around the police tape, the plastic slick and cool between his fingers. "Look, I _know_ one of the people who was here, and I just want to know—"

The woman's hand lashes out, grabbing his wrist. She holds up the yellow tape, pulling him under without preamble, and Ray almost face-plants on the concrete.

"Bearier!" The woman hollers over her shoulder, and one of the detectives picking through the wreckage turns to face them. He's a giant bear of a man, easily head and shoulders taller than Ray, and it feels as though the sun's being eclipsed as he lumbers towards them.

The female detective hooks a thumb towards the milling crowd. "Keep them behind the lines, all right?"

The man nods and snaps out a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

"And say _nothing_. _Nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G._ " The woman pauses. "Nothing. Got it?"

The man considers for a moment. "Not even name and rank?"

"Not even name and rank. Just keep them back." The woman still hasn't let go of Ray's wrist, and she tugs him off towards a part of the building that _isn't_ hemorrhaging smoke and dust and large pieces of rock. "All right, we've got about three minutes before they convince Dom to start speaking. That's how long you have to convince me I should tell you anything, Mr. Defense Attorney Not Connected with This Case."

"I..." Ray blinks, rubbing at a wrist that feels bruised. "Why couldn't I tell you over there?"

"Because the instant you said you knew someone in the courthouse you made yourself a target, and I don't like leaving people to sharks in circumstances like this." The woman glances down at her watch. "Two minutes forty-five seconds left."

"I just want to know if Apollo Justice is..." Ray finds his voice seizing up, and he coughs, trying to convince himself it's just the dust of the explosion irritating his throat. "He was the defense attorney for a trial taking place—for the Solomon Starbuck trial."

The woman's eyes narrow. "I know who he is. How do you know him?"

"I..." Ray coughs again, and his eyes are burning now, too. The dust must be really bad. "I've known him for a long time. I helped him study for the bar." The woman's expression doesn't soften, and Ray reaches into his pocket, fumbling for his wallet. With trembling fingers he flicks through the contents. There's one of him and Miles, and one with Kay and Sebastian, and surely he's got at least _one—_

He finds it buried at the back, the corners crinkled and folded, and pulls it out with a sigh. Apollo and Clay's graduation day, and Apollo had tried to act as though it didn't matter to him that he had no one to get tickets for, but the look on his face when Ray asked if it was possible for Ray to attend...

Well, it was nothing compared to the look on his face in the picture. He's grinning, the honor's tassels hanging off his shoulders in gleaming gold loops. He wasn't quite valedictorian, but he was close, with Clay only a few places behind him, and they're both making victory signs at the camera as Ray stands with an arm around each of their shoulders.

The woman takes the picture from Ray's hands, and he snatches at it, unreasoning panic rising at the loss of contact.

"Holy..." The woman sighs. "That really is Justice. I'd know that goofy grin anyway. And... oh, hell. No wonder he looked like kind of a mess. All right, Mr..."

"Shields. Raymond Shields, ma'am." Ray takes his hat off, placing it above his heart. "I just want to know if he's okay, and if he's not where I can find him."

"Anything I tell you is in strict confidence, Mr. Shields. And you won't like what happens if you break that confidence, all right?" The woman shoves the photograph back into Ray's hand, waiting for him to nod before continuing. "Justice is alive, but he was hit with falling rubble. He's at the hospital downtown, being treated for—"

Ray is already shoving his hat back on his head and turning to leave, his stomach flip-flopping as he assimilates the news. Apollo is alive, but he was hurt badly enough for them to actually get him to the hospital. That must mean—

The woman's hand closes around his wrist again, bringing him up short. Her eyes are bright and earnest as she stares up at him. "There's a lot going on here, Mr. Shields. A lot of _important_ things. Be careful what you say to who."

"All I want to do is see Apollo, ma'am." Ray swallows, his throat once more tight and tingly. "Because he's going to need some friends right now."

The detective's fingers peel away from his wrist, and Ray is free to charge his way back through the reporters to his car.

His hands shake as he shoves the key into the ignition, and the engine stalls the first time he tries to turn it on. Ray forces himself to stop and take a deep breath, closing his eyes against the continued roar of questions being tossed his way.

When he tries the engine a second time, it catches, and Ray peels out of the parking lot as quickly as he dares.

He'll see Apollo soon, and then he'll just have to figure out what to say to the boy, because _sorry_ just isn't going to cut it this time.

XXX

Ray buries his head in his hands, breathing deeply so that he can hopefully both keep from screaming and keep his head from exploding as he prepares to explain himself for the ten thousandth time. "I _know_ that a patient by the name of Apollo Justice was brought in. He's a young man, mid-twenties. Even if you're not supposed to give out information, I am a lawyer and if you'll just let me talk to whatever detective is in charge—"

"Once again, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about." The head nurse is a large woman who has perfected the art of saying exactingly polite things in a scathing voice that makes it clear you must be the stupidest human being to ever have the temerity to exist in her orbit. "There is no one here by the name of Apollo Justice, and even if there _were_ I would be unable to give you access to someone that you, yourself, have indicated is involved in an ongoing police investigation."

Ray's hands clench into fists, and he's about two-tenths of a second from saying something he is _really_ going to regret when he spots a familiar figure striding purposefully down the hall. "Detective! Detective Gumshoe!"

The big man pauses, turning around and scanning the area. Confusion gives way to welcome on his face, and then his brow wrinkles in concern. "Mr. Shields! What brings you down here? Does Mr. Edgeworth know about it?"

"Does Edgeworth know..." Ray shakes his head, finally figuring out what Gumshoe means. " _I'm_ not sick. I'm here because of one of the victims of the courtroom bombing. The defense attorney in the case, Mr. Apollo Justice—"

Gumshoe's hand lashes out, latching onto Ray's elbow and towing him toward a hallway that has far fewer people in it than the waiting room Ray had been stuck in. At least Gumshoe is a little bit gentler than the female detective, though Ray's getting a little tired of being dragged around like a piece of fresh meat.

Once they're in a quiet, empty area Gumshoe turns to face Ray, letting his arm go. "Sorry 'bout that. Just need t' make sure no one overhears who shouldn't. This case's a big mess, and if anyone isn't who they appear to be..."

Gumshoe's eyes narrow as he studies Ray, and Ray holds up his hands, feeling both foolish and alarmed. "What, you're worried _I'm_ not who I appear to be?"

"Well, I mean..." Gumshoe frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Look, big guy, I'm not trying to get involved in whatever crazy dangerous case Miles is working on. I'm just trying to make sure the _second_ kid I've failed in my life doesn't die before I at least get to apologize to him." Ray pulls his wallet out again, once more flashing the photo of him and Apollo and Clay. (It feels _unclean_ , almost, using the photo as evidence, but if it gets him close to Apollo—closer to where he should have been for the last two years—it's worth it.)

Gumshoe studies the photo, his fingers reaching out to gently touch first Apollo and then Clay's face, and Ray gets the strangest impression that the detective is close to tears. "Aw, hell. We'll _all_ have t' apologize to the kid... that's all you're lookin' for, is Apollo?"

Ray nods, sliding photo and wallet back into his pockets. "I just... need to make sure he's all right."

"He was a little banged up, 'specially on his arms, but he apparently felt good enough to check himself out against medical advice." Gumshoe shrugs. "I hear he's plannin' on continuing to investigate."

"Continuing to—" Ray sputters to a halt. "He was just in an _exploding building_. He was taken to the _hospital_ because of it."

"Yep." Gumshoe shrugs. "Kid's got a spine of steel, and hopefully a head of one, too."

Ray puts a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Okay. So. Where's he likely to have gone now?"

"Um... my guess is either out to investigate, or back to the Wright Anything Agency." Gumshoe scratches at his cheek. "Wish I could tell you more. Maybe you could try calling him?"

"I can't just call him and be like _sorry your best friend is dead_." Ray shakes his head, his arms crossing defensively in front of his chest. "Especially not when I've been... less than ideal as a friend and mentor over the last few years. I need to _find_ him."

"Okay." The easy smile on Gumshoe's face hasn't changed over the years, and he pats Ray encouragingly on the shoulder. "I'm sure you will. I've got t' get goin', though—Mr. Edgeworth has things he needs me to do. And be careful, all right? Like I said, this is a really, _really_ big case, and I don't want you gettin' hurt." Gumshoe's smile fades into an expression of grim sorrow. "There've been too many people hurt already."

"I'll be careful." Ray pats the detective's hand before ducking out of his grasp and setting off at a brisk trot down the hall.

Apparently he's going to need to be _fast_ if he wants to catch up to Apollo, but that's something Ray can manage.

XXX

Apollo isn't at the GYAXA space center—or if he _is_ , he's not in an area that Ray can reach. Given that large swaths of the grounds are still off-limits to anyone not involved in the police investigation, that still leaves a big chunk of ground, but Ray can only beat his head against recalcitrant guards for so long before he gives up.

It would help if Miles would pick up his phone, maybe give Ray a bit of insider's assistance, but when Ray calls it goes to voicemail, with a message to send a text in case of emergency that needs immediate attention. Ray _almost_ sends a text, but he feels awkward enough asking Miles to use his position to assist him; interrupting what is apparently the biggest case of the last few years so that Ray can make contact with a kid he really shouldn't have _lost_ contact with in the first place feels wrong.

Since GYAXA is a bust, Ray figures his next move should be to head for the Wright Anything Agency. It's somehow both the weirdest name for a law firm and the most fitting name for Phoenix Wright's law firm that Ray can think of, and he tries to keep his mind just on the oddities of language as he scrambles up the stairs. (One thing hanging out with Miles has given Ray over the years is much better stamina on stairs, since Miles still avoids elevators with a subtle but firm authority if able.)

When Ray raps on the door to the Agency, a male voice calls out for him to enter. It's not Apollo's voice, though—Apollo's voice would have been instantly recognizable and unimpeded by the intervening door, and this man's voice is somewhat muffled.

Ray opens the door, trying to keep his expression to a pleasant blank. Maybe Apollo is just being quiet, either because of his injuries or because he's working, and...

It's instantly apparent that there's only one person in the office, and also that usually there are several more. Wright sits at his desk, and there are red marks on his temples that mean he was probably holding his head in his hands for a while before Ray knocked. Papers are scattered across his work surface. Couches, shelves, and what seems to be a carnival's worth of magic paraphernalia fills the rest of the office.

Despite the dark circles under his eyes, Wright smiles. "Hi. I'm Phoenix Wright, attorney. How can I help you?"

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wright." Ray's hands work their way down into his pocket. "But I'm actually looking for one of your associates. Is Mr. Justice around?"

Wright's eyes change abruptly, becoming hard and sharp as his gaze rakes up and down Ray. "Why are you looking for Apollo?"

Ray sighs. Is he going to get interrogated every time he asks to see Apollo? Reaching into his back pocket, he prepares to pull out his wallet and the picture contained in it once more. "My name is Raymond Shields, and I'm a friend of—"

"Wait, _Edgeworth's_ Ray Shields?" Phoenix stands, a grin flitting across his face. "Uncle Ray? The defense attorney?"

Ray blinks. "Ah... yeah, I guess so. I knew Miles when he was little, and we've been friendly again for a decade or so."

"Yeah, I know." Wright comes around the desk, smile looking a tiny bit more honest now. "I've heard him talk about you a lot."

Ray allows his wallet to stay in his pocket, backing up until his knees hit one of the couches and sitting down. "He talks about you a lot, too."

Ray's _pretty_ sure Phoenix is the one Miles means when he says _that man_ with a particular glower. Wright is certainly the only time Miles has requested Ray to look into someone suspected of corruption in an attempt to _clear_ their name rather than tarnish it further.

Wright leans against his desk, posture much more casual than it had been before Ray introduced himself. "Sorry to be a little suspicious before. Apollo's just... been through a lot in twenty-four hours."

"I know." Ray gives a little bitter laugh. "Well, I know some of it, at least. I knew him and Clay Terran when they were younger. That's why I've been trying to get in contact with him—I can only imagine how much this has to have hurt him. But when I tried to meet him at the courthouse, it was... a little bit exploded, and by the time I got to the hospital he had already absented himself, and thus I've ended up here."

Wright nods. "He's currently out investigating with Trucy and Athena—ah, Trucy's my daughter, and Athena's my newest attorney. One of their friends was accused of orchestrating the bombing, and they're trying to prove her innocence."

Both Ray's eyebrows climb up. "When he was _injured_ in the bombing?"

Wright gives a little shrug, but his mouth quirks into a tiny, proud smile. "Never tell Apollo he can't do something. Especially if that something is try to find the truth. The girls will make sure he's all right."

"While I certainly hope that's true, Uncle Ray would still like to see him." Ray drops his eyes to his palms, but what he's really seeing is the news this morning, and Apollo wearing Clay's uniform jacket into the courtroom. "I owe it to him."

"I'm not going to kick you out." Wright frowns, studying Ray with eyes that are once more wary. "You said you've been Apollo's friend for a while?"

Ray nods. "When he and Clay were little, a friend of theirs—a fellow orphan—was accused of a crime she didn't commit. I got her off. I've kind-of sort-of mentored him ever since."

"Huh. Interesting." Wright narrows his eyes. "I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned you, then."

"Well, we've kind of lost touch the last few years." Ray sighs. Might as well have the whole thing out. Maybe Wright can give him some tips for dealing with older, grieving Apollo. "Ever since he accepted Gavin's job offer and I told him it was a great idea, that Gavin wasn't corrupt."

Wright's whole expression closes down, his body stiffening, his lips pressing together until the blood is pushed from them. When he speaks, though, his voice is calm and cool. "You couldn't have known. Kristoph was very, very good at manipulating people and presenting only the front he wanted them to see."

"Yeah, well, I still felt like I failed the kid." Ray shrugs. "Since then... I just haven't had a chance to make things right."

"Apollo's..." Wright sighs. "He's... really worked up about this case. The Starbuck case. Terran's death. If you think seeing you's going to just upset him more..."

Ray feels his shoulders hunch in and forces himself to straighten. "If you think I'll be more harm than good, I'll leave."

"Hmm." Wright hums to himself, tapping a fingertip against his desk. "You knew Terran, too?"

A tiny nod is all the answer Ray finds himself able to give, and he closes burning eyes, trying not to think of a tiny, fierce voice telling him he better not _dare_ to hurt Apollo.

"Stay, then. Talk to him." Straightening, Wright moves around the desk, settling back into his seat. "I think it'll do him good to talk to someone about Clay. Just one piece of advice. Whatever you do, don't lie to him about anything. He'll be able to tell, and with everything else... just don't do it, all right?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Ray tips his hat forward to shade his eyes.

After everything else he's put Apollo through, he definitely knows better than to do that.

XXX

Apollo lets Athena drive them back to the Agency. He's technically not supposed to drive for at least a week, but then he's technically not supposed to be out of the hospital, either, and he hasn't let that stop him.

He hasn't let _anything_ stop him, though the whole world seems to be intent on managing just that.

Athena keeps lying to him. He knows it even without his gift, the bandage around his eye keeping him from perceiving her twitches quite so easily. She knows something about what's going on, about how Clay died, and she's _not telling him_.

She keeps telling him everything's going to be fine, they're going to save Juniper and find the killer, when she's _hiding information from him_.

Trucy is just her usual self, at least, even if some of her good cheer seems a little strained, an act put on for Apollo's benefit. She's been hovering at his side since he checked himself out of the hospital, and if he occasionally has to lean on her, well... she keeps putting his hand on her shoulder. Clearly she _wants_ to help, even if there's a part of Apollo that still doesn't quite believe that.

(He wouldn't have been so surprised yesterday. He had been doing _better_ , starting to believe that he could count on people other than Clay. Now Clay is dead, though, and it's as though someone has ripped the ground out from under his feet and replaced it with angry, lonely void.)

"Come on, Polly." Trucy urges him down the hallway. "We're almost there."

"I'm all right." Apollo forces himself to straighten, to lean a bit less heavily on Trucy. "Don't worry. The doctors said I would be fine, yeah?"

Athena appears at Apollo's other side, clearly offering support. "They also said you shouldn't do anything stressful. I'm pretty sure investigating a murder case counts as stressful."

"Yeah, well, _not_ investigating it would be even more stressful." Apollo puts his hand on Athena's shoulder as he mutters out the words. What will she hear in his voice? Will she understand that some of the anger and pain is aimed at _her_ , rather than at the circumstances that have conspired to take Clay away from him? (To take Clay away from his _dreams_ , but Apollo can't think of that—can't imagine Clay dying so close to his goal and yet so far away from it—or he will break. And he can't afford to break yet.)

The door to the Agency is cracked open, and Trucy leads the way inside, her hand giving Apollo's a little squeeze of comfort.

It's Trucy's response that clues Apollo in to someone else being in the room. If she hadn't gasped and come to an abrupt halt, Apollo's pretty certain he would have just collapsed on the couch, possibly right in the lap of the man sitting there.

"Uncle Ray!" Trucy darts forward. "What're you _doing_ here? Oh, gosh, it's been _ages_. Where's Uncle Edgeworth been hiding you?"

Apollo blinks at Trucy, trying to put her words and Raymond Shields together and come up with a context that makes sense. Apparently he took a harder blow to the head than he thought, because he's not coming up with much useful.

Shields jumps to his feet, pulling his hat off his head and holding his arms open. "Well, as I live and breathe! Trucy, you come give your Uncle Ray a hug."

"Wait." Phoenix holds up one finger. "You know Trucy? Why do you know Trucy and I don't know you?"

"He would babysit for me, silly." Trucy rolls her eyes as she looks at Apollo, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Him and three-quarters of the county, apparently." Wright sighs as he scrubs a hand across his face.

"Ignore him." Trucy waves a hand at her father before charging into Shields' arms, hugging him tight and trying to lift him off the ground. "Oof, nope, still need some more magic for that. I bet Polly could lift you, though. Polly, this is—"

"I know him." Apollo's words are cooler and harsher than he had intended, and he can feel his face heat. "Um, I mean... we've known each other for a long time."

"Oh." Trucy's hands twine together behind her back, and she gives a wavering smile and a nod. "That's good, right?"

"I hope so." Shields offers Apollo a tentative smile. "I'm sorry we haven't talked recently, Apollo. But I heard about... I wanted to give my condolences, you see, and—"

He came because of Clay. The realization makes Apollo's knees weak, and he abruptly sits down, squishing some article of clothing with way too many hidden pockets and scattering a deck of cards across the floor as he does. Of course Ray came because of Clay—he saw it on the news, and he _understood_ , and Apollo doesn't know if he should be mortified or grateful.

Exhaustion seems to sweep in and replace all other emotions, and Apollo closes his eyes.

Trucy's hand is the first to find his shoulder, and Apollo reaches up to grip it tight. He shouldn't need to use a sixteen-year-old as a lifeline, but right now it feels like one of the few things he can trust.

(And when all that he can trust is a girl who makes her living fooling people, pulling the wool over their eyes, he's fallen far.)

"Apollo..." Shields speaks quietly. "I don't want to make this any harder on you than it already is. I just... I had to give my condolences, and I wanted you to know I'm still thinking of you. Still consider you... well. Just... if you need anything..."

His arms _ache_ , a bone-deep weariness, and Apollo looks down at the white bandages that are starting to show yellow-brown stains. Will he be able to bike home? "I... don't suppose your car can fit a bike, too?"

Both Shields' eyebrows arch up, but he nods. "If I need to, I will manage to fit an elephant in that car. Especially if it keeps you from doing something stupid like trying to bike home."

Apollo sighs. "Why does no one trust me to know my own limits?"

Athena pats him on the shoulder, and Apollo tries not to stiffen and pull away. "Probably because you're very bad at actually _listening_ to your body's limits."

"I do just fine." Apollo sniffs. "But, uh... yeah. If you wanted to give me a ride home... I think we're done with the case for the night, and that way you and me can maybe catch up..."

"Sure thing." Shields puts his hat firmly back on his head. "We can grab dinner along the way."

Apollo stumbles his way through wishing good evenings to the others in the Agency, and then follows Shields down to a beat-up but functional car. He tries to help load his bike, but Shields won't let him, and after a few minutes Apollo finds himself bundled into the passenger's seat of the car.

He pulls the lapels of Clay's jacket tight around his throat, rests his head against the window, and watches the sunset light play off the clouds as Shields heads the car towards the apartment that will now be just Apollo's.

XXX

Apollo is quiet in the car, and Ray finds himself letting the silence drag out, not certain how to breach it. What can he say to possibly make up for Kristoph Gavin? What words can possibly contain the utter horror that is Clay murdered on the eve of his first space flight?

Eventually practicality wins out as Ray realizes he started driving towards Apollo's place without confirming that this is where Apollo actually wants to go.

"Did you, uh... want to go to your place?" He tries to sound casual when he speaks, and he's not certain if he succeeds, the atmosphere too charged to allow even casual conversation to sound normal. "Because if it would be too much, I can always take you to mine for the evening."

Apollo sinks a little deeper into his seat—a little deeper into Clay's jacket. "I want to go to our apartment."

"Okay. That's where we're heading, anyway." Ray resists the urge to reach over and touch Apollo's shoulder. Apollo is the one to initiate hugs and physical contact, Ray knows; impinging on his personal space makes him uncomfortable, and that's the last thing Ray wants to do right now. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Apollo's voice is rough, raw with grief, and he turns his eyes to the passenger's window—so Ray won't see that tears are rising in them? "You're the first person to say that to me without prompting, I think."

"Aw, kid—"

"No, it's all right." Apollo's fingers are white-knuckled where they clutch at Clay's coat. "He wasn't my brother or my cousin or my boyfriend."

"All of which doesn't matter a lick." Ray fumes out at the road, his own hands tight around the wheel. What does he say? Pointing out that Apollo and Clay have been there for each other for a decade, that the two _go together_ , will only make things worse. _Apollo_ knows, and trying to change the world so that _others_ recognize that, too... well, Ray's never been very good at fixing the broken world they live in.

"It's not really fair, anyway." Apollo raises his head—studying the washed-out stars above the city? "You're the first one to say you're sorry, but Aura... she gave me his jacket. When I went down to investigate. And Starbuck... there're other people who understand."

"I'm glad." Ray can't imagine that Clay's people could have known him and _not_ understood how close he and Apollo are. "And you'll get to the bottom of it. You'll solve the case."

"Of course I will." A little bit of Apollo's usual fierce determination returns to his voice, though it's still grief-clouded and rough. "No one can stop me."

"Anyone smart won't even try." Ray flashes Apollo a fierce smile. "But remember you don't have to do it all alone. You've got people to help you. Me, Wright, those two gals at the agency..."

Apollo's head ducks down, and his right hand pulls the jacket tight around his throat.

What kind of sore spot has Ray managed to hit now? "Apollo? Did... something happen at the agency?"

Apollo draws in a shuddering breath. "A defense attorney is supposed to trust people, right? Trust their client? Believe in their client?"

For several long seconds Ray is silent, trying to sort out his own beliefs on the matter. Gregory had trusted people, a quiet, steady certainty that would lead him to work as long as necessary on the cases that he took. Ray... Ray _tries_ to trust people. He _wants_ to trust people. But he has seen so much corruption, so much pointless horror... "You trust if you can. You at least give people the benefit of the doubt. And you trust to the facts—to the things that no one could have tampered with or changed."

Apollo bites down so hard on his lip that for a moment Ray's afraid he's going to start bleeding. "Because people are messy, and the system is broken, and all you can hope for is occasionally keeping someone innocent from having their life ruined and someone guilty from getting away with their crimes?"

Ray closes his eyes for a moment, and the red light of the intersection paints bloody images even through his eyelids. "I was at a pretty bad place when I said those things to you. Miles—I thought he had betrayed everything his father stood for. I didn't understand what Von Karma had done to him."

Apollo says nothing, his hands now clenched into fists in his lap as the light turns green.

"But look at what Miles has become since then." Ray can't help but smile. "Yeah, he's a prosecutor, but he's the Chief Prosecutor, and he's a man with _honor_. With _conviction_. A man who's changed things—like you have, Apollo."

Apollo's head whips up, the bandage over his right eye standing out stark white in the dim car as he looks at Ray.

"Yeah, you." Ray smiles. "You've helped shake things up in a _good_ way. Watching you work... I'm sorry I ever told you to go work for Gavin."

Brow wrinkling in confusion, Apollo shakes his head. "I _chose_ to go work for him. Because of the pay and his reputation. You don't have to apologize at all for that."

Ray shrugs. "I still feel like I should. Like I should've looked into it harder, or... I don't know. But I'm really proud of you, Apollo. Of what you've done since—of what you did with Kristoph. It takes a strong man to chase down the truth even when it looks like you're going to convict your boss. You've got talent and you've got drive and I... I don't want something stupid I said to ruin that."

A tiny smile flickers across Apollo's face. "It wouldn't. I _know_ the system's broken, and I know we can make it better. I just... this case..."

"It's personal. That makes it harder." Ray draws a deep breath. "When my mentor was murdered, I tried to look into it. I got nowhere—between Von Karma and complacency, there wasn't anything I could do. But I also... I was so furious and so grief-stricken I wasn't doing things right. I didn't use the contacts Gregory had. I didn't collect evidence like Mia Fey did to try to bring down some of the corruption. I let myself get disillusioned and bitter, and it didn't help anything."

"I'm not going to do that." Apollo's hands are still fisted, but Ray thinks it is less in fury and more in determination now as his head tilts back up, his good eye searching once more for stars. "But I think... I think I might have to do some things that are going to hurt some people. And maybe... maybe stop trusting someone, because they keep lying to me."

"If someone's lying to you, there's no shame in parting ways until you can dig your way to the truth." Ray turns into the parking lot of Apollo's apartment. "Once you do, well... then you can figure out _why_ they were lying to you. To mislead you? Or to protect themselves? Or maybe out of some misguided idea that it'll protect _you_..."

"I'll know, once I've got the truth." Apollo straightens, turning to Ray. "Thank you. For the ride home. And... for caring about Clay."

"He was a good kid. I'm going to miss him." Ray climbs out of the car and stretches, both hands on his back. "And I wish this weren't the way we got to see each other again, but... I'm glad the two of us are back in touch. I do mean it—if you need me, you call me, anytime."

Apollo climbs out of the car more slowly, holding Clay's jacket protectively around him. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good." Ray comes around to Apollo's side of the car. "I don't suppose Uncle Ray can get a hug?"

Apollo hesitates, and then steps into Ray's arms. For a moment he is perfectly still, composed; then his shoulders begin shaking, and even though Ray can't feel any moisture on his shirt, he knows Apollo is crying.

They stay like that for two or three minutes, Apollo grieving while Ray holds him. The brightest stars shine down even through the slick yellow glow of the streetlights, and Ray tilts his head back to study them.

Miles swears that ghosts are real, and Ray has no reason to doubt him. Miles would do many things, but teasing Ray with the possibility of getting to see Gregory Edgeworth again isn't one that Ray can easily imagine. If ghosts are real, and spirit mediums can call them, then souls must be real, too.

He hopes that Clay's soul is here, watching them. He hopes that Clay will stay to guard Apollo, to give what solace he can during this difficult time.

But for now Ray will have to do, his arms the only breakwater between a world that can be vicious and the grief that bleeds off Apollo.

Ray hopes it will be enough to keep the light in Apollo's eyes alive.

Eventually Apollo pulls away, and the smile he offers Ray seems genuine as he wishes Ray a good night and heads up to his apartment.

As Ray gets into his car after affixing Apollo's bike to the bike rack, he spares a moment to tip his hat back and study the stars some more. "I'll do the best I can to take care of him, kid. So help us get through this, and then you rest in peace."

There's no response—not that Ray really expected one—so he turns on the engine and the headlights and pulls out, wondering if there's anything else he can do to help pull Apollo through this nightmare intact.

XXX

Three days later Apollo is the one who takes Ray out to dinner.

It's a strange inversion of when Apollo was younger, and Ray's not sure he's entirely comfortable with it. Apollo chooses a nice, reasonably-priced place, though, so Ray tells himself to get over it—kids grow up, after all—and just enjoy the meal.

Apollo looks... better. Still drawn and grieving, but less... agonized. Less like he's facing a dragon with a toothpick for a sword.

"She lied to me because she didn't know what else to do. Because she was scared, and the truth was complicated." Apollo takes a long sip from his soda. "But she didn't have anything to do with Clay's death. I... feel kind of bad about doubting her, now."

"Don't." Ray spears a piece of asparagus with his fork. "You have to find the truth. If that means separating yourself from people who aren't helping you get there... sometimes we've got to do unpleasant things to get to the bottom of a mess."

Apollo smiles. "Is that the bitter man talking, or is that the guy who wants to be a wise old mentor?"

"Hey, now, your Uncle Ray is _not_ old." Ray stabs his fork towards Apollo for emphasis. "He is never going to _be_ old. He is young at heart forever."

"My apologies." Apollo holds up his hands in surrender.

"No apologies needed." Ray chews on a piece of chicken for a few seconds, debating how much he should say—how corny he can comfortably be. "Though if you must know... I'm trying not to be quite so bitter anymore. I mean, it's the dawning of a new age, right?"

"Oh no." Apollo groans, raising one hand to cover his eyes. (Ray tries not to stare at the scars that show on his forearms—minor ones, that will fade with weeks and months, but scars all the same.) "Please don't say you're getting caught up in that media... media..."

"Hard to find a word for the media being _good_ , isn't it?" Ray gives a little chuckle. "But I kind of like Bright Age of the Law. Apollo's age, depending on who you listen to."

"Uh uh, that was _one_ stupid piece by someone _way_ too obsessed with mythology." Apollo is grinning, though, clearly pleased rather than upset. "Besides, it was mainly Mr. Wright who worked everything out and brought everything to a close. Him and Mr. Edgeworth."

"They couldn't have done it without you." Ray returns Apollo's smile, his voice becoming softer. "And even if you don't feel you were instrumental in helping to fix the Dark Age of the Law—and given that you were co-counsel on the Themis case plus everything with Blackquill I'd say that's selling yourself _way_ short—you're _my_ little shining sun. You keep fighting the good fight, despite everything you see and go through, and that... it means a lot to me, to see you out there."

"Mr. Shields..." Apollo sits stunned on his side of the table, looking half-panicked.

Ray reaches for his own glass, the red wine inside soaking up the light as he lifts it up. "To new dawns, wherever they may be generated."

"To new dawns, and strength in the nights that precede them." Apollo's voice breaks, his eyes bright with the force of his grief again, but his hand is steady as he clinks his glass against Ray's, and the light of determination hasn't faded a bit from his gaze.

It's a victory, no matter how small, and Ray cherishes it as they continue their meal.


End file.
